


The Spice of Life

by imladrian_girl



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3482483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imladrian_girl/pseuds/imladrian_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of his breakup with Thorin, Thranduil meets a dark stranger at a downtown salsa bar and after a couple of shots of liquid courage the rest is history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this late one night after a hard day and two heavy margaritas. Enjoy! Oh, and I own nothing.

On his way out the door all he managed to grab was a Franklin sitting in the bowl where they once kept their keys, and determined to go out with a real bang, he abandoned everything and took the nearest bus toward downtown. This was a new start, despite all the time that he wasted looking pretty at Thorin’s side and all the luxury that came with it. 

The bus dropped him off at a corner already ripe with the young and wild, all there from different places but with one thing in common; to make the world eat it and gag. The music from the various clubs was a delirious mish-mash of genres, and Thranduil was dizzy on the possibilities when he chose the establishment with the seductive red lights and the cocksure sounds of _la tierra_.  


The salsa bar was a host of an infectious Latin rhythm Thranduil had never followed, but tonight he would give in and let his body take over and his mind forget. Slamming the $100 note on the bar, Thranduil purchased its weight in shots and tipped back four before the electric zing of the live trumpets started their climb up along the length of his spine, infecting his body to the extremities until he had no choice but to physically exert the quickly building energy. 

_¡Baila, mi hermano! ¡Aqui te traigo my rumbo Africano!_

Tossing his Gucci blazer to one side with no intention of seeing it again, Thranduil closed his eyes and let the sensation of the music guide him to the dance floor. The crowd was alive, their sensual gyrating a blur to his tequila coated senses, and he joined them as if he’d always known how. Shoulders, hips, and feet suddenly possessed the freedom of their own prerogative, and it exhilarated Thranduil to move and shimmy among all the others until he was wet and flushed. He danced with no one in particular, at least at first, and then suddenly he was being guided by a swift hand into a turn- back, forth, and then pulled into the arms of a man whose hands too had their own prerogative and invited Thranduil’s hips to follow his closely, their sweat and breath having no choice but to intermingle as they danced chest to chest. Excited, liberated, Thranduil met the brown eyes of the stranger and grinned, burying his hands into the moist, dark waves of this dark stranger’s shoulder length hair and leaning into the strong, experienced tempo of his frame. It was the most erotic experience of his natural life. 

_!Echale mas salsa para darle sabor! !Mira que bueno!_

The dark stranger guided him all throughout that dance floor with the expertise of a lifetime lover, sometimes facing him, most of the time from behind Thranduil with his chin against the crook of his neck and hands palming his hips, fingers tickling his midriff as his t-shirt rode and stayed up with their ongoing gyrations. His fingers were calloused and cool against his skin, and Thranduil was so hot that a soundless moan escaped his lips more than once. Turns were a reprieve, lifting his hair from his neck and exposing it to wisps of coolness, and always a guarantee that tall, dark, and handsome would wound him back to him with the confidence of an expertly managed yo-yo. Thranduil must have been keeping up to his liking, for he earned many handsome smiles and caresses from him, the kind even his intoxication would never let him forget, and eventually his name and the precise location where they’d end up dancing to the horizontal mambo until the sun came up.

Thranduil opened his eyes and gazed at their pile of clothes sitting on a weathered Lazy Boy for a long while, not daring to move until the goings-on of the last 24 hours resurfaced. Thorin and he were no more, he had nowhere to go, no money. He remembered his agile dance partner, the sense of security his guiding hands and solid frame had on him, and slowly he turned his head on the pillow. The dark stranger was already awake. The smile he greeted him with reached his tired eyes, which were warm and crinkled in all the right places and Thranduil found himself smiling back behind his tousled blonde hair.

Bard was everything he ever wanted in the world, and nine months later in that hundred year-old Lazy Boy they pre-consummated a devotion that would transcend his messy divorce, four children, a mortgage, and the whole of their lives until all they had left was each other. 

The end.


End file.
